What You Get Is What You See
by Zabbie Q
Summary: It all started out innocently enough. Just go to April's apartment and help her move stuff. They did not think that soon they would have to be dealing with abducted kids, gang members, and intruders that could turn the city upside down.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - TMNT and what goes with it belongs to the respected people. The things that are referenced belong to those who that own them. Songs belong to those who own them (e.g. "Cheeseburger in Paradise" © Jimmy Buffet). If I own anything, it's mine. If there's any in-character mistakes, please give me your thoughts. I am, after all, not the creator, so this story is just a guess.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

What You Get Is What You See

by Zabbie Q.

Chapter One

The difference between man and turtle has been noted by many great scientists over the past centuries. One difference, that science shows, is the fact that man is a biped and is capable of abstract thought and making intelligent choices (or otherwise), while turtles walk on four legs, carries its house about, and will love you if you manage to remember that it has to fed once in a while. Another fact is that man's center of gravity, chemical balance in the skull, millions of muscles, and nervous system allows him to perform a number of acrobatic feats. Science will show you that a turtle is lucky to even climb onto skateboard without rolling on its back, much less do anything with the skateboard.

Of course, scientific law is based upon observations made by humans that are capable of error, which is what four brothers loved to point out everyday.

"Yee-hawww!" Michelangelo cheered as he spun in the air before landing his red skateboard on the stone floor. His nunchaku rattled on his rope belt, and he playfully thumped his elbow pads as he performed a comical victory dance. With a smile he raised arms, kicked off again, and used acceleration to ride his skateboard on the stone walls of the sewers. The wheels managed to roll up five feet before the teenaged turtle had to turn it and glide it back down. The board whizzed along the walkway, and he jumped over the river of sewer water separating the two side of the tunnel.

"Show off!" Raphael called out, but he smirked when he said it. He spun around once in his red rollerblades stretched out his legs and picked up a good speed before he reached a set of stone stairs that Michelangelo had soared over. With the ends of his red bandana fluttering behind him, Raphael bent and leapt over the stairs, twisting his body into a somersult. One, two, three-- he landed, skidded a little, but managed to keep his balance.

"I'm afraid I can only give you a seven-point-five, Raph," Michelangelo said, pretending to be remorseful. He coasted a little bit before performing a 360.

"Roller-blades ain't so easy as they look," Raphael returned, catching up to his brother. He pushed Michelangelo's shoulder, sending the orange-wearing ninja face first into the water. Michelangelo yelped before he disappeared under the surface.

"That's gross," said a voice behind them. Raphael quickly made way for his brother, Donatello, who rode down the steps on his purple bicycle. Donatello pedaled once before squeezing the break. "Even for you, Raph," he added.

Raphael rolled his eyes. "Can't you guys get a joke?" he demanded, but suddenly, he shouted as Michelangelo's three-digit hand grabbed his ankle and dragged him under.

"...Yes," Donatello replied as Michelangelo quickly pulled himself out of the drainage. The two guffawed, but in a moment they were silenced as Raphael's head broke surface.

The turtle glared daggers at Michelangelo. "These skates are new!" he bellowed, grabbing the edge of the walkway. "You are so dead!"

Michelangelo screamed as Raphael lashed out at him and promptly jumped on his skateboard, which hadn't gone into the water with him. Raphael let out a war cry and swung his legs up, but before Raphael could start after Michelangelo, Donatello asked, "Hey, where's Leo?"

Raphael twisted around and scanned the tunnel, and Michelangelo zipped forward twenty feet-- just outside the dangerous radius around the provoked ninja-- before stopping and looking as well. There was no moving shadow upon the wall, no sound of wheels on a scooter. The three turtles squinted at everything, including the arch of the ceiling, in case Leonardo was pulling a prank on them.

"Leo's good," Donatello said with a frown, "but he's not _that_ good at hiding."

Michelangelo laughed nervously. "Huh, and he tells _us_ that we shouldn't wander off." He cupped a hand to his mouth. "Kay, Leo! It's a funny joke, but time to come out!"

Leonardo did not appear. The brothers looked at each other; Donatello and Michelangelo winced, uncomfortable, but Raphael made a strange sound in his throat that was half-sigh, half-growl.

"Fine!" he called out. "Here we come, ready or not!" Rollerblades still filled with water, Raphael pushed off with one foot and glided to the stairs. He grabbed the iron rail tightly and started the slippery climb to the top.

"Does he mean 'Here we come, whether you're ready or not?'" Michelangelo asked as Donatello shouldered his bicycle. "Or 'Here we come, whether _we're_ ready or not?'"

Donatello shook his head. "There's no way that I'm actually related to you."

Michelangelo looked at him, confused, but then he frowned. "Hey!"

-----

Leonardo crouched against the sewer wall and peered around the corner, raising an eyelid. He quickly ducked and kept as quiet as he could. He waited a moment before folding up his scooter and laying it down.

Minutes ago he had been with his brothers, heading to April O'Neil's apartment. Since he was the slowest of the four while riding the scooter, his brothers had jeered at him with taunts such as, "Slow and steady won't win _this_ race!" Leonardo had decided to take a short cut and surprise his brothers-- well, not scare them per se, but at least show off a new trick move he had been practicing when they appeared at the "Crossroads". The Crossroads--a section of the sewers where seven tunnels met to go out an eight, larger tunnel--would be the perfect place.

He had been gliding down the small intersection between his brother's route and the new one when his instincts suddenly told him that he should slow down and stop making noise. Leonardo had quickly walked the rest of the way to the end of the "alleyway", and now he looked again around the corner.

Kneeling side-by-side as the edge of the walkway, two boys leaned over the water. One had blond hair and looked thirteen; he held his companion protectively as the younger, a redhead around ten, stirred the water with a stick. Only five feet away from them were the iron rungs of the ladder leading up to a man hole.

Leonardo held in a private sigh and pulled out his Shell Phone. The time read 9:30 p.m. What were these boys thinking? The sewers were dangerous enough for the four ninja turtles and their sensei; it was no place for little kids. Leonardo watched them, waiting to see what they would do, but the boys remained where they were, silently observing the current.

After what might have been five minutes, the younger boy finally raised his head. "Will we be here long, Sosso?" he asked.

"I haven't decided yet, Kevin," the blond boy replied with a shrug. "Though I do want to explore this underground a bit more. It's more interesting than trying to walk in the subway tunnels."

"Are talking about before or _after_ we escaped the train?"

"Stop complaining, you wuss."

_Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_ Leonardo's mind flashed over and over like a radar. He knew there was a small emergency walkway in the subways that led from one station to another, but it was narrow. If you were on it while the train was going pass, you might as well say good-bye. _You don't know how lucky you are_, he wanted to say to them.

"I suppose it is safer down here," Sosso said thoughtfully. He stood at last, and Kevin straightened beside him, releasing his stick. Sosso cracked his knuckles. "We might find a lot of stuff down here."

Kevin fidgeted, and he looked up and down the sewer. "Um... what about the alligators?" he asked, his voice going up an octave.

Sosso snickered, and his pale face was strangely contorted. "You're so stupid!" he taunted. "Don't you know that's just an urban legend? What would alligators eat down here, huh? It's not like anyone flushes down a pizza. There's no way one could survive."

"I guess so," Kevin replied, and he sounded relieved. He pulled out something blue, which Leonardo recognized to be a piece of sidewalk chalk, and started coloring on the wall. Sosso punched his fists into his pockets and watched silently.

Leonardo moved back again, and he thought of his choices. He could just sneak away and leave the kids alone; he wouldn't be detected then, but something bad could happen, and he would have to live with that shame for the rest of his life. 'What can I do? What would be the best way to keep them from harm?'

_Fear. _It was the first answer he received, but he was not so sure of it. The only way he inspire them with terror would be to reveal himself to them, which he was not keen on doing. He thought of Master Splinter. Master Splinter always did say that a ninja had to conceal himself; then, as Leonardo thought, Master Splinter would also say that they should take any means necessary to avoid the chance of harm falling on innocent bystanders.

He took a deep breath and then stood. He straightened his shoulders, put on his best smile, and strode around the corner. At first the boys did not notice him. They were too absorbed with Kevin's drawing of a lizard-like monster standing next to what might have been the Statue of Liberty. Then suddenly, Sosso's gray eyes averted and were suddenly fixed upon the turtle in blue. The boy's jaw dropped, and he uttered a little squeak. Kevin glanced up and froze at the sight of the ninja.

"Hello," Leonardo greeted, trying to sound friendly. "Could you kids spare me a quarter?"

They stared, as if hypnotized, then a shriek tore from Kevin's throat. "Alligator!" he screeched. He turned and ran towards the ladder, climbing up faster than Leonardo thought short legs like his could; Sosso followed suit. "I'm sorry about flushing you, Fluffy!" Kevin wailed before they were out of sight.

"Hey! Didn't your dad ever tell ya not to wander around the sewers!" a voice demanded, right next to Leonardo's ear. The turtle jerked as Raphael pushed passed him and shook a fist towards the kids. His tone had more bite than normal, and Leonardo noticed that he carried his rollerblades under his arm. He looked like he had been swimming in the East River.

"Yeah!" Michelangelo chimed in. Leonardo whirled around just in time to see his younger brother emerge from the shadows. "Ours tells us not to all the time!"

Donatello came next, and he shook his head. "Alligators!" he sighed. "But I suppose they go to public school, huh? That's Casey's excuse."

Leonardo felt his face heat. "What are you guys doing here?" Leonardo demanded, trying to hide his embarrassment of being found.

"Oh, so you _didn't_ miss us," Raphael cracked. "What were you doing down here?"

Leonardo decided not to explain. "Nuthin'," he said, pushing pass Donatello to retrieve his scooter.

"Busted!" Michelangelo chuckled, but Leonardo ignored him.

"C'mon, guys," he urged. "We told April we'd be at her apartment by ten."

"Just waiting for you, O' Leader," Raphael replied, giving a mock bow. Leonardo didn't reply, but merely unfolded his vechile. Raphael sniffed, but he did not give any more comments. He slipped his wet rollerblades back on and winced. "You so-o-o owe me a new pair, Mikey," he said before starting down the new route.

Leonardo climbed on to his blue scooter, and Donatello grabbed his bicycle, but Michelangelo lingered, observing the picture left on the wall. "Can't draw to save his life," he decided.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: To the Casey fans, this is my second attempt, in all of my fanfics, to write from Casey's point of view. Tell me how you like (or don't like) it.

Chapter Two

The darkened alleyway was deserted of life, save for the squabbling of rats under a green dumpster at one end. Windows of the nearby shops and apartments were closed, and any light that came from them shone through the gaps in the window blinds.

Then suddenly, there was movement. If a passerby had casually looked, they might not have seen anything and would have continued walking, which was the desired effect. A humanoid figure, a little over six feet in height, stepped both cautiously and casually into the middle of the alley and leaned against the fire escape. The figure pulled out something from his pocket and pressed a button; immediately, the object lit up with blue light, revealing the tan features of the dark-haired man.

Casey Jones shoved the Shell Cell- or whatever ol' Donnie called it- back into his pocket and folded his arms over his chest. He looked about thoughtfully, enjoying the cool air and the relatively quiet noises. While New York was the city that never slept, there were rarely much life in this part after 9:45. The area around here did not have enough valuable things for the mafia or the Purple Dragons to bother with it; most of the "gangs" of this neighborhood were really punk kids who had enough respect for their grandmothers' canes to honor their curfews.

That was one of the few saving graces that those kids had, Casey decided as he straightened his red sweater. He remembered that once, when he was sixteen, he had visited a convict over at the prison; he couldn't remember the kid's name now, but he knew that the kid's mother had been a friend of his father's. The kid seemed remorseful enough, and he told Casey, right before he had left for home, "If my pop had only spanked me just once, I wouldn't be in here." Casey still felt a twinge of sympathy for that kid, as well as for the other teens who desired the false glamour of gangs.

Then his musing strayed to the Purple Dragons, but there was not one note of friendly emotion. They were old enough to know the world well, and the thought of them made his blood boil once more. "If I ever have kids of my own," he decided, thinking aloud, "they'll be trained in more than 'clubbing'. They won't be without any excuse if they decide to go with the gangs." Maybe, though he was not thinking of settling down any time soon, that might help New York. He did like the idea- seven kids, knowing right from wrong, taking over Pop's job when he got too old to swing a baseball bat

The Jones Team, Jones's Brood, the Eight Joneses... Names poured into his mind, and he smiled. Then he thought of April, and that was when the man hole opened.

Casey frowned, snapping out of his reverie. "'Bout time you showed up!" he admonished as a red bandana appeared.

"Sorry about that," Raphael returned. "Leo was havin' an episode."

Casey smiled as the turtle climbed out, but then his nose suddenly wrinkled. "Yeesh! I know you guys live in the sewers, but what's with the stench?"

"Don't get him angry again, or we won't get anywhere," Donatello advised, poking his head up. "April will be upset if we don't get to the shop soon." His voice sounded a little funny when he said it, but Casey figured that he was trying not to gag from Raphael's odor.

Michelangelo and Leonardo were soon out, and the five started up the fire escape to the roof. The roof tops were, by far, the fastest route to almost anywhere in New York City, especially if you did not want to be seen. The five fighters leapt and sprinted across building after building, goading each other on. They flipped over alleys, showed off their no-hand cartwheels through the rooftop gardens, swung on the poles of street lights as they moved over to a different block, pushed, laughed, and struck poses, pretending to be in karate movies. Even Donatello, who kept reminding them about April, joined in, and their spirits were high by the time they reached the right street.

They quieted down when they reached the last building before the antique shop, as was the rule Master Splinter had set in motion back when they first met April. The five still smiled as they walked carefully to the edge and looked down at the backstreet. However, their jubilation ceased immediately.

Under the illumination of the street lamp three teenagers crowded around the backwall of April's store- two boys and one girl. Purple, yellow and red spray paint cans hissed as the kid's arms went this way and that. They each wore a black jacket, and the turtles and Casey saw, when one boy turned to his companions, that they each had a large red rose blossum on their backs.

"That's sure manly," Raphael cracked. He reached for his sai and started forward, but he suddenly stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry, guys. I forgot my manners. Any of you want to do the honors?"

"They're all yours," Leonardo replied.

"I got to beat punks senseless last time," Michelangelo yawned.

Donatello gestured towards the painting teenagers. "I don't mind."

Casey, however, removed a baseball bat from his gear. "If you don't mind having another. I might have to help you take down the little girl," he added with a sly look.

Raphael smirked. "You wish," he shot back, and he quickly moved towards the drainpipe.

Grasping the long pole, he slid down with the ease of a kid at a playground and landed silently on the street below. Casey was soon at his side, and they moved forward. Casey, of course, walked ahead, being the human. It was a strategy the two friends liked to use- Casey would meet their opponents face on, and if they tried attacking him, they would soon be introduced to Raphael's round-house kick.

"Hey! You!" Casey called, slipping on his hockey mask and stepping into the light. "You don't go paintin' on other people's property. It's not nice."

The three turned. The boys frowned, and the girl looked annoyed. "Who are you?" the blond boy asked.

"A friend of the proprietor of this establishment," Casey replied, slapping the bat against his gloved palm.

Back in the shadows, Raphael looked at Casey's head in disbelief. "Since when has he been takin' vocabulary lessons from Don?"

Meanwhile, the black-haired girl raised an eyebrow at Casey in suspicion. "There's a proprietor?"

Casey snorted. "Yeah! The government don't own everything."

The girl's brow knitted, and she seemed to glare at Casey. She reached into her back pocket, and Casey tensed as she walked forward. "Is that so?" she hissed. Though she was short, she seemed to get taller in the dim light.

Casey gripped his bat tighter, but suddenly, the girl straightened and put something green into his hands. She looked at him solemnly. "Our mistake then. We thought this was abandoned. Please give this to the proprietor. It should be enough for a new paint job."

Casey glanced down and discovered that she had handed him a small roll of money; the fancy digits of a twenty dollar bill was visible even in the shadow that the girl cast upon it. One of the boys, a tall kid with spiked brown hair, came forward and handed Casey a single bill. This one had been Benjamin Franklin on the front.

"And that's for any labor," he said. Without another word, they turned on their heels and walked away with their remaining comrade. The girl linked her elbows with the boys', and then the shadows swallowed them up.

Casey stared after them for a long moment, then he turned and saw that Raphael was gaping as well. Donatello, Leonardo, and Michelangelo appeared next to their brother.

Donatello rubbed his purple bandana thoughtfully. "That... was rather anticlimactical," he observed.

Raphael at last closed his mouth and crossed his arms. "I'm a little disappointed," Raphael sighed. "I was hoping to take the big guy down."

Casey shook his head and put his bat away. "Their story's a bit bogus. 'Thought it was abandoned!' Like they wouldn't notice that this is a shop?" He looked down at the money and ran a hand through his black hair. Finally, he unrolled the money and stared. "Whoa! There's, like, six twenties here!" Suddenly, he scowled. "It's bad enough when kids off the streets do this stuff, but rich kids! That's just plain wrong!"

The brothers looked at each other, each trying to sort this strange occurrence out. "Why would they leave quietly? Casey isn't _that_ intimidating."

"Thanks, Raph."

Leonardo frowned and rubbed his chin. After a moment of silence, he said, "Well, at least we didn't have to get into a fight. That's always good. C'mon, we gotta tell April what happened."

Leonardo and Casey turned towards the backdoor, but they saw Michelangelo had already crossed over and was studying the graffiti. The others looked as well and saw that it was a drawing of a purple clad ninja in fighting stance; clouds of red and yellow surrounded him and red roses with purple outlines blossomed around him; he carried a yellow sword with red streaks on the blade and a red hilt with yellow wrappings. It was very well detailed.

"Narly," Michelangelo complimented.

Raphael and Donatello exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes. "Shame it's illegal," Donatello said.

"I like the drawing Fluffy's owner did better," Raphael smirked. "Look at that stance! How does he manage not to fall over? And look at the wrappings around his knees! Master Splinter would die of laughter at his get up."

The five shared a snigger, but then they remembered April and quickly entered the store through the backdoor.

Donatello was the first one to enter the shop. The wide windows were covered, blocking any glimpse an outsider might have of April's hired furniture movers. Many of the antiques were missing from the shelves, but Donatello suspected that they had been put in the cardboard boxes that were stacked by the front door. With her back towards the newcomers, a red-haired woman in a short purple shirt chopped the air with a wooden sword. With each swing she moved forward a step until finally she reached the displays in the windows.

April O'Neil turned, and upon seeing Donatello and the others, she smiled with relief, but then her grin vanished, and she glowered at them. She raised her wooden sword over her and began slashing the air in front of her with all her might.

"Where were you!" she demanded coming towards them. "I was so worried! I didn't know if you were fighting, or hurt! Did it occur to you to call me!" she demanded, nearing them.

Leonardo maneuvered forward, raising his green hands in apology though he looked amused. "I'm sorry, April. It's my fault that we're late. I'll try to make it up to you."

April stared at him for a moment, as if not knowing how to respond, but then her smile reappeared. "That's okay, Leo. I'm just glad you guys aren't lying in the gutter somewhere." April's green eyes twinkled, and she swept her left hand out and around, indicating the store. "Thanks anyway for coming over, guys. I'm thinking that the display over there could be moved... over..." April's nose twitched. "What's that-"

"Don't say a word," Raphael growled, knocking Michelangelo over to get through. "Not one word." He clenched his hands into fists, but then relaxed them. "Hey, April, your shower still works, right? I'd like to rinse off first."

"And maybe use some soap as well," Casey smirked.

The turtles laughed; even Raphael gave a half-grin, but April did not seem too receptive of the idea, which Donatello noticed. She fidgeted with her wristwatch and glanced towards the door leading to the stairs. "The shower? Um... I guess, but first," she said, her eyes lighting up, "let me move some stuff. Erm, it's a little messy, and I wouldn't want you guys tripping."

Raphael snorted. "Please, April, we're ninja. We don't trip."

"Yeah," Casey agreed, his eyes glittering. "But probably doesn't want to stench up her stuff by stepping on it."

April laughed, but Donatello thought it sounded fake. "Don't be ridiculous, Casey. I'll- I'll be right back," she promised and quickly turned and went through the wooden door on the side wall. The turtles and Casey could hear her footsteps thundering up and over them.

Michelangelo shook his head. "I didn't know humans could be a neat freak like you, Leo. Sure you're not related to them?"

Leonardo gave him a look. "Your jokes are really off today."

April was soon back, and she smilingly invited Raphael and Michelangelo to take a shower. While the two were upstairs, the remaining of the five told April what happened with the spray painters. The redhead had turned pale, but then Casey showed her the money.

"Two hundred and ten dollars?" she breathed. "Who do you think they mugged?"

"Casey thinks this was rightfully theirs," Leonardo answered.

Casey made a sound of disgust and folded his arms. "Black jackets like those cost dough. Looked like satin, or maybe quality leather, and three of them don't come cheap."

April bit her lip; her eyes flashed dangerously. "What would rich kids want to be in gangs for? They could cause more havoc becoming politicians!"

They did not talk much after that. April went outside with Casey to look at the damage; by then, Raphael and Michelangelo were downstairs, now a little more cheerful, and April assigned tasks. "A delivery truck is coming tomorrow with antiques I bought from a man over in Manhattan," she explained. "With it are two display cases, and I need to make room for them."

Casey and Raphael were set to work moving the furniture and other cases around to April's liking; Leonardo and Michelangelo were charged with moving the antiques that were in the boxes to the back room.

"What can I do, April?" Donatello asked.

April beamed at him, but Donatello thought she looked hesitant. "Would you come help carry these boxes up my apartment?" she asked, gesturing to the ones behind the counter. "Receipts, mostly."

"Sure," he replied and immediately grabbed two. He piled on a third one, and April, carrying a stack of her own, led the way up the stairs. Donatello glanced around his boxes fugitively at the redhead. Was it his imagination, or did April seem anxious? The smile she had given him seemed a little fake; it did not possess the same charm that she usually radiated with.

Suddenly, his foot slipped off the last stair just as he was stepping onto it, and Donatello stumbled forward self-consciously, but he managed to stay standing. The top box slid off as he tilted forward and crashed upon the wooden floor. Papers spilled out, and Donatello mentally kicked himself. "Sorry!" he apologized, placing the other two down and shoveling the receipts back in the box.

"Are you alright?" April asked, wide-eyed.

Donatello flushed. "Y-Yeah," he replied. "So much for Raphael's idea about ninja never tripping." As he followed April down the hall to her apartment door, he pushed his previous thought from his mind; April's business was her own, and who was he to decipher human emotions?

A moment later they were in the apartment, and Donatello stared. Whatever house cleaning April had done, it looked like a tornado had blown in after she had left. There were books tossed about, clothes left carelessly on the couch, paper towels on the floor, soaked with red liquid, and a trail of what might have been chocolate cake crumbs.

April hurried in and headed towards the kitchen. She placed the boxes on the counter and turned again to Donatello, who looked at her in wonder. She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. "My old girl friend from college stopped by last night and needed a place to crash on her way to Jersey. I'm still cleaning up." April shrugged. "Well, you don't choose your friends by their neatness, that's for sure."

Donatello laughed. "Here, April," he offered, heading towards her bedroom door. "Why don't we put your box in here, and I'll help you clean up?"

"No," she returned quickly, just as the turtle reached for the knob. "She also had a little accident, and the room still stinks."

Donatello glanced her, but he did not push the matter. He put his load on the counter as well, and April searched for a broom while he started gathering the books. By the time they had sorted the living room out, the others were finished with their jobs and came up to see what they were doing.

"Are we interrupting anything?" Michelangelo joked, bounding in.

Donatello ignored him and straightened the red rug. "Are we all set to go?" he asked.

"What? No snacks for the hard workers?" Casey demanded playfully.

April smiled. "You might deserve something if you actually did work and not goofed off," she replied, but she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of grape soda. Donatello helped her serve the drinks and powdered donuts before leaning against the wall. April on her part went back and poured herself a glass of milk as the others joked and laughed.

Michelangelo began telling a funny story he had overheard when he was hanging out by a drainpipe that morning, and Casey countered with one of his own. That reminded Raphael of a goof up Leonardo made when he was six, which Raphael gladly shared. Leonardo reminded him of a mistake Raphael had made concerning tourists, which made Michelangelo spurt soda out his nose. Amidst the merriment April watched them, obviously preoccupied. Her eyes were glazed over and stared out her window.

Donatello moved to stand next her, but she did not glance at him. He lightly tapped her hand, and she jerked. He smiled apologetically and asked softly, "What's wrong?"

He must not have said it soft enough, because his brothers and Casey stopped talking and turned to look at them. April shrugged and took a long gulp of milk. She wiped her mouth and after a moment, she said, "The brand of milk I buy started putting colored pictures of missing people on the cartons." Her face wrinkled, and it seemed that she was trying to hold back tears. "Recently, it's all been children."

Casey shook his head. His face was hard, and his eyes glowed with white hot fire. "All of it makes my blood boil," he declared, punching his right fist into his open palm. "If I ever found one those guys who takes kids, I'd ring them up and..." He growled and punched his hand again, as if unable to express himself in words.

Michelangelo, who was usually smiling and making light of serious situations, looked as if his organs had turned into a writhing snake. "I'm a turtle, so I only have a second-hand perspective on these things, but why would any human bother with kids?"

"I can think of some reasons," answered Raphael. "Most of them deserve the chair, the weirdos."

Casey turned his head and nodded at his friend. "There's this cop that shops at the same convenience store that I do, and he told me that in prison they have to keep child offenders away from the other in-mates because the in-mates will kill them."

Donatello had never thought that could be possible of a convict. Leonardo obviously had not either. "Why?" he asked.

"'Cause the convicts feel that to kill a grown man is okay," Casey told him, "but if you kill a kid- and they find kids to be innocent- then you're lower than all scum and deserve more than prison."

Donatello found himself nodding, and he looked to see April's reaction. However, April still looked upset, so he decided to change the subject. "Hey, April, if you want, I can come over tomorrow night and help you paint over the graffiti," he offered quietly. Even as if he said it, though, he was thinking of the forecasts, and it occurred to him that they were due for a cold night for the unusual warm autumn weather. That would mean it would be too cold for the paint.

April managed a weak grin, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing. "Thanks, Don," she returned. Suddenly, she checked her watch. "Oh! It's almost eleven! I promised Splinter I wouldn't let you guys stay after ten-thirty!" The turtles and Casey quickly said good-bye to her and left the shop through the window.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Michelangelo stretched his muscular arms leisurely as he strolled through the sewers. With a morning of practice behind him, his afternoon free time was the best time of the day (after meals, of course). Three hours all to himself was the reward for forcing himself to pay attention to Master Splinter, doing push-ups, using blindfolds, and being at the mercy of Raphael when he was knocked down. Now, it was him and quiet.

He hated quiet.

"When's Don gonna fix my GameGuy?" he sighed, slumping his shoulders. That was the down side to his break today. Raphael had broken his PlayCenter 2 and his other servers after Michelangelo had filled his pillows with bugs the week before. As punishment for Michelangelo's trick, Master Splinter had confiscated his Walkman and his comic books until further notice. Then, since he pulled Raphael into the sewer water, his brother had hid his skateboard- at least, Michelangelo was sure Raphael hid his skateboard. The turtle seemed to laugh a little more nastily than he would have had under normal circumstances.

Michelangelo clasped his hands behind his back and sulked, wishing something would happen that would rid him from his boredom. He turned a corner and walked towards a gutter which he knew was in front of a store that sold trinkets and valuable items; sunlight poured in, which reminded him that he could not go walking about like a normal teenager. "Bummer," he sighed, remembering the time he saw a bunch of kids skateboarding together in a back alley.

His melancholy did not last long. When he was seven feet into the tunnel, music suddenly floated to him. He beamed and scampered forward. "Alright!" he cheered. "I love promotional gimmicks!"

Rock'n'roll music filled the tunnel like life-giving oxygen. There was no words, just the sound of fast-played instruments. Michelangelo did not recognize the artist, but that, of course, did not stop him from enjoying it. He soon found himself banging his head back and forth and twisting this way and that.

He whipped out his nunchaku and swung them about as he did when he played the drums. He kicked his legs out, using his fighting skills to form a dance. As he jerked and hummed under the sunlight, he imagined a music video. He could see himself and his brothers on a stage before a roaring crowd of fans. He could see the purple, red, orange, and blue spotlights altering their positions and a laser show that moved about the performer's bodies as the turtles jammed. He would be playing a brand new and cool-looking set of drums; Raph could be trusted to make excellent music on the electric guitar. Donnie, though he was not a traditional rocker, would at least follow the drums with a narly purple bass. Leo- Leo would- Well, Leo would do something, but he would have to decide on what it was when the song was over.

"T-M-N-T," he sang to the new tune, "what you get is what you see!"

Suddenly, something touched his head. It was not hard or big, but he still started and jerked his head up. Another something, red and thin, dropped through the gutter and landed on his nose. He brushed it off and quickly moved out of the light, hoping that no one had looked down and seen him. More red things dropped and landed with the other two, and it took Michelangelo a moment before he realized that they were rose pedals.

There was talking from above, which was a little drowned out by the music. With his back to the wall, Michelangelo listened, privately wondering if he would hear that "He loves me; he loves me not" crud. Fortunately, it was not.

"_Blade by blade,_

_Drop them on the floor._

_Throw the stems_

_Out the window, not the door._

_Blade by blade..._"

It was spoken a few times, but then it began to be sung to the refrain. Michelangelo felt that the singer could use a few lessons (and maybe a poetry class as well). He covered his ears, but suddenly something else came down. It fell faster than the pedals, and the green caught his eye. Michelangelo stared at it as it bounced off the cement floor and landed at his feet.

The turtle picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was square and small, the size of a quarter, and had silver lines on both sides. At first he thought it was some sort of jewelry, but after carefully examining it, he realized that it was something technical. "That's for Donnie," he decided, but he glanced back up thoughtfully.

If someone missed this, they might try looking down in the sewer. Maybe he should carefully slide it up and-

"_Blade by blade..._"

No, that would not fly. Well, Donatello might figure out who it belonged too. He quickly turned and began walking away, disappointed that he could not enjoy the song anymore, though he knew he could not risk humans finding out that he was jamming down here. Voices carried after all, so, defeated, he headed back towards the lair.

The digital camera flashed, and Donatello quickly checked the back screen. The picture of the toy train looked good: nice angle, no unwanted reflection. "Train, electric car, and radio, that's good for now," he decided and connected the camera to his computer. After saving the pictures to a folder, he opened up an Internet browser and typed in the eBay address. He quickly logged into his account, checked the results of his bids, and went through the procedure to get his items ready for customers.

A few months ago April had suggested he start selling some of the things that he fixed up. "You can get a nice profit," she had explained, "and you can buy all sorts of things." He had agreed and, with the stuff he scavenged from the dump, he had been able to get buyers for the turtle-made things.

Donatello remembered how his brothers had been against the idea at first. "What if we need something that you send off?" they had challenged, but when Donatello had told them that they could use the money to order pizza and movies, they had started helping him find stuff to sell.

With his items on the market, Donatello leaned back and frowned. After a moment he pulled up a search engine and typed in "rose black jacket". He had hoped to find somewhere in New York that specialized in jacket design orders, but instead, he had a bunch of women's clothing sites.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. The "artists" from the night before must have been part of a gang; he was sure of it. However, he could not remember ever seeing their graffiti before. They must be a newly formed one, but how many gangs were there that could afford expensive uniforms?

As he sat there, the back of his neck started to feel more clammy than usual. He turned around in his chair and scanned the empty room. He knew that Master Splinter was in his bedroom meditating, that Raphael was in the kitchen, and that Michelangelo had slipped off. "Leo?" he called.

There was no answer, but Donatello felt like he was not alone. Carefully, he picked up his bo staff from where it leaned against the wall. He clapped his hands once, turning off the lights, and stalked forward, using the shadows and his ninja training to search. Around the pillars he moved with the agility of a cat, bracing himself for anything. As he neared one of the exits to the rest of the sewers, his nose quivered. Did he smell... lemons?

He took a few steps forward, and the scent became stronger. He gripped his staff tightly, moving into an offensive stance. Scanning the darkness, he saw something move. He charged forward with silent leaps and swung his staff with all his might.

"AUGH!" the thing screamed, and Donatello recognized the voice immediately.

"MIkey?" He clapped his hands, and the lights came on, revealing his brother sprawled out on the floor. His brother winced and sat up. "I'm so sorry!" Donatello apologized in a rush. "I thought you were an intruder!"

He quickly grabbed Michelangelo's arm, and the nunchaku-weilding ninja rubbed his shell. "Now I know how the Foot feel," he groaned. Suddenly, his nose twitched, and he brightened. "Hey! Is someone making lemon squares?"

"No," Donatello replied, and his brother's face fell. Donatello shook his head. "Mikey, when you were coming in, did you... sense anything?"

"No," said Michelangelo with a self-mocking laugh. "If I did, I would have saved my shell from a beating. Of course, I thought I was late for Master Splinter's next lesson, so I was paying more attention to not getting caught. Didn't work though."

Donatello sighed. "No, I mean, did you see anyone when you came in?"

"No. I didn't hear anyone either. Did you?"

Donatello slipped his bo staff back in its place in his belt, feeling both worried and foolsih. "No, I didn't hear or see anything. I guess I have to work on intuitions."

Michelangelo nodded. "Your ninja senses were tingling, but they chose the wrong time, huh? I'm telling you, Don. You shouldn't spend so much time on the 'net. Your addiction is messin' up your brain."

Donatello did not reply and headed back towards his computer. Michelangelo followed him. "I brought you a present," he chirped and laid a green square on the desk as Donatello sat down.

Donatello picked it up and studied it. "Looks like a microchip. Where did you find it?" Michelangelo told him, and Donatello pinched his chin. "My computer's not set up to use something like this, but I'll look into it," he promised.

"Just don't fry your brains," Michelangelo admonished before heading towards the lounge.

Donatello gave a weak laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. He still felt odd. Maybe he should not stay up so late watching horror films, or maybe he should spend his free time sleeping instead of eBaying. He reached for his mouse, but after a moment of hesistation, he typed in "flower shops new york city". A whole list appeared, and he searched for one that let customers shop online. After finding one, he chose a bouqet of yellow roses and had them sent to April's apartment.

He knew April liked the color red better, but Donatello did not feel comfortable sending her red ones. Yellow was bright, though, and yellow roses looked nice. He could still picture the sorrow in her eyes as she talked about the missing children. These would cheer her up.

"I just hope she's not allergic," he sighed to himself.

Just then Raphael came out of the kitchen, eating from a bag of potato chips. "Did somebody scream in here a moment ago?" he asked with his mouthful.

"Yeah," Michelangelo called from the couch. "Don was a little crazy with the bo staff."

"Good for you, Donnie," he smirked. Donatello did not reply, and Raphael went back to what he was doing.

Raphael rolled up the bag of chips and stuffed it back in the pantry. He searched around for a clean bowl before grabbing a box of cornflakes. After shaking a good amount out, he poured milk on the flakes and swirled the contents around. Satisfied, he turned on his heel and headed towards the door, intending to eat his late breakfast in his room. The moment he put one foot across the threshold, however, his Shell Phone rang.

"Can't that guy call after three o'clock?" he growled, yanking the phone out. He comtemplated turning it off, but he decided against it and accepted the call. "Yo, Case."

"Raph, what are you doing at sunset?" Casey's voice demanded in his ear.

"Oh, this and that;" Raphael cracked. "I'll try to pencil you in between saving a captured princess and solving world hunger."

"No jokes, Raph," Casey snapped. "This is serious. I'm taking down some punks, and I'll need back-up."

Raphael did not know whether to laugh or shake his head, so he settled on sarcasm. "I'm touched. I guess you really like me after all." Casey made an aggravated noise, and Raphael smirked to himself. "What's the problem?"

"Alright, it's like this: over in the parks old people sit on benches together-"

"That's what they do," Raphael interjected. "I'd like to see how active you are at their age."

"Shush it," Casey growled. "Anyhow, every night at sunset, they get up and spread out like a flock birds, as a protection stradegy- against punks beating them up. The gangs are able to get about a quarter of them every night, but tonight I'm stopping it."

Raphael held back a swear. "Why didn't you tell me this before, Case?"

"Yous guys were always fighting those Footie ninjas, or trainin' with Splinter. It kept slippin' my mind."

Raphael sighed. "Okay, I'll see if the guys want to do it. Call you back." Raphael ended the connection and jogged out of the kitchen. "Donnie! Leo! Mikey There's-" he stopped. On the other side of the lair, standing outside his room, Master Splinter was talking with Donatello. By the look on his furry face, Raphael knew that something was up.

Master Splinter turned his head as Raphael neared, and he looked at his son grimly. "Raphael, go get Leonardo. He is in his room."

"What's up, sensei?" Raphael asked, but he was already heading towards the ladder that lead to the upper level of the lair.

"Get your brother," Splinter replied.

Ten minutes later the four turtles were kneeling in front of the aged rat, who limped back and forth in front of them. Moments ago he had had his sons wait downstairs while he had searched their rooms. When he had come back, there was anger and sorrow in his eyes, like a warrior discovering that his loved ones had been massacred. The only time Raphael had ever seen Splinter like this was when he talked about his former master, Hamato Yoshi.

After pacing for a long time, Splinter finally turned towards the turtles. "My sons," he said, "you do not have the same sense of smell as I do, but tell me what you smell."

Michelangelo laughed. "I smell that Raph needs another shower," he snickered, but was immediately silenced with a sharp rap of Splinter's cane.

"This is serious, Michelangelo," the rat scolded.

Michelangelo rubbed his head, grimacing. "C'mon, sensei. Everyone knows that I'm supposed to be the comic relief," he complained, but stopped when he was saw his brothers glaring at him. "Shutting up now," he said weakly.

Raphael sniffed the air, but could not smell anything. Leonardo, on the other hand, frowned. "Did April bring over another lemon cream pie?" he asked, grimacing. They loved April like a sister, but she chose the worse bakeries to shop in; they had always pretended that they liked those pies, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but that had only encouraged her to go to the same store over and over.

Splinter shook his head. "No, Leonardo," he replied. "It would appear that someone was using the scent of lemons- to tell us that they were here." He sighed. "Donatello believes that there was an intruder, and I agree with him."

Raphael blinked, not catching on. "But that would be stupid, sensei," he said. "If there was an intruder, he wouldn't want us to know he was here."

Splinter turned towards him. "But not all men are of the same mind," he answered. He raised his cane, indicating their rooms. "In each of your bedrooms, there is the scent of a human. The same one in each. From the strength of his smell in different places, it would appear that he has been coming here for at least a week.

Anger filled Raphael like fire. He grabbed his sai and stabbed them into the stone floor. "And we didn't notice?" he bellowed. Hatred stabbed at his stomach and coursed through his veins. He wanted to take the creep by the throat and pound him until he was too sore to move for a year. He wanted to- he wanted-

"We have to tighten the securtiy," Donatello said, cool as cucumber despite the fact that he was sitting next to his enraged brother. "We might have to set up a code system, so that no unauthorized access can be obtained."

"And in English?" Michelangelo blinked.

Donatello ignored him. "I should have it up in a few hours, sensei," he went on.

Splinter nodded, but he did not smile. "In the mean time, we must keep watch."

"Yeah, I'll keep watch," Raphael growled, twirling his sai. "I'll keep watch for the look on that guy's face when he finds out that he can't snoop around here no more!"

Leonardo rolled his eyes, and Donatello gave a jaded sigh, but Splinter looked at the turtle thoughtfully. "What were you wanting to do before, Raphael?" he asked.

"Huh?" Raphael blinked and tried to think back. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, great. I have to call Casey and cancel! Stupid creep messed everything up!"

"Cancel what?" Donatello asked, and Raphael told them the story about the elderly people. Splinter's face was grave as he listened, and he was silent for a long moment after Raphael finished.

"We have two wrongs, and six warriors," the rat stated, and it took Raphael a moment to realize that he was counting Casey as that sixth one. "Raphael, you may go and help Mr. Jones. Donatello, stay here and fix our security."

"I'm on it, sensei," Donatello nodded and stood to retrieve his tools.

"Leonardo," Splinter continued, "you will help me guard our home. Michelangelo-"

"Aww, man!" the turtle groaned. "I wanted to go."

Splinter was silent, but then he smiled slightly. "-I want you to accompany Raphael."

"_Yessssss!_" He shook his fist with delight. "You're the best, Master Splinter!"


	4. Chapter 4

"Poisoning Pigeons in the Park" is copyrighted Tom Lehrer.

--------

Chapter Four

In the shadows of the trees, Casey, Raphael and Michelangelo patrolled the Rock Park (as some of the natives of the West Bronx called it), keeping hawk eyes open as the afternoon came to a close. Casey's idea was that they should keep an eye out for potential thugs while it was still light, so that they might be able to catch them before they went after the elderly people.

They all wore casual clothing to deflect attention. Casey had his golf bag filled mostly golf clubs, and he wore his favorite red sweater with blue jeans; he looked more like a guy on his way to a miniature gulf park with his two brothers than a man ready to beat up a bunch of abusive kids. Raphael had borrowed a blue T-shirt, a black knitted hat, and a black jacket from the turtles' closest of disguises, and he had with him the large pair of sweatpants that April had given him. He wore a pair of sunglasses and had managed to find a pair of shoes from the junk Donatello wanted to sell on eBay. Michelangelo had donned an orange sweatshirt and white trousers along with a black Yankees cap. He, too, wore sunglasses, which helped cut back on the stares, though humans still did double-takes when they saw the green skin of the two brothers. Thankfully, though, no one bothered them about it.

While it was serious business, Michelangelo could not help but enjoy himself as he walked with his brother and Casey. The way the autumn sun's orange beams fell upon the sagging trees and the large boulders in the park gave him an idea for the next comic book he would draw. The multi-colored leaf piles reminded him of Thanksgiving, which reminded of pumpkin pie, which reminded him about Christmas and the stuff he had asked "Santa" for. As they walked along the cobbled path that ran around the perimeter of the park, the smell of hot dogs from a passing vendor on Jerome Avenue made his mouth water, and he immediately stopped the man and bought one.

"Sheesh, Mike," Raphael seethed. "Put your stomach away and get serious!"

Michelangelo sniffed. "Hey, you already ate," he pointed out and immediately bit into his mustard-covered treat.

Casey, however, did not protest. He nodded with approval. "It's hard fighting on an empty stomach," he decided. "Just don't eat too much, or you'll get a cramp."

Michelangelo sniffed at Raphael and stuck tongue out, all covered with chewed-up meat and bread, but he had to duck as his brother swung at him. "Grow up," Raphael ordered through clenched teeth and stalked forward, now walking in front of his companions.

There were benches here and there in the Rock Park, and the retired folk sat around chatting. Michelangelo observed as the three "casually" passed them that most of these people were not homeless; in fact they were casually dressed and looked like they had families who took care of them. Michelangelo could not understand why anyone would want to go after them; he could imagine why a thug would go after someone their own age, but an old man? It made no sense. Where was the honor in it? Where was the glory?

He thought of what he would do that night. He would go after anyone, of course, who harmed these innocent people, but what else? Knock them all upside the head and let Raphael deal with them? Maybe he might be able to talk some sense into one of them. He could say, "Hey, if you think this is bad, think of what you're giving these guys!" or "Yo, you're going down the wrong path. Do you want to get repeatedly beaten up like the rest of our enemies?"

"You need to stop sniffin' chemicals," he said aloud, as he often did, without realizing that he was speaking. Unfortunately, he said it at the very moment that he walked by a group of elderly women. The women looked at him in surprise.

"I beg your pardon!" one said, and she clenched her purse tighter. "You don't go around talking to ladies like that, young man! Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

Michelangelo was taken aback, and he quickly raised his hands in apology, not knowing what to do. "Yes-- ah, no, I don't have one, but my sensei... erm, I wasn't--" He yelped in pain as he felt a strong hand grab his shell and yank him backwards.

"Sorry about that, ma'am," he heard Raphael say, straining to sound polite. "My brother was dropped on his head when he was a kid." Raphael tugged Michelangelo away from them, grumbling threatening promises under his breath. On the path ahead Casey was doubled over with laughter.

"You know just what to say to a girl, Mikey," the human sniggered when he was able to speak.

Raphael released his brother, but before Michelangelo could straighten, Raphael's foot came up and connected with the back of his shell. Michelangelo flew forward and landed on his knees and elbows. "I can't kill you right now, Mikey," Raphael growled, "because there's too many witnesses."

He raised his foot again, but Michelangelo scooted away. "It wasn't what it looked like," he squeaked.

Casey's giggling ceased, but he was still smiling. "Yo, time to chill, Raph," he said. "We got more fish to fry."

Raphael shot another kick at Michelangelo before grumbling an agreement. He and Casey continued walking while Michelangelo tagged behind, rubbing his clothed shell. "It was just an accident," he muttered to himself.

He shoved his fists into his pockets bitterly; his hot dog no longer felt comforting in his stomach. "Look at me, I'm Raphael," he mocked, imitating his brother's deep voice. "I like blood and playing with Barbie Dolls!"

"I hope you're thinking of your last request," Raphael called back. "You'll need it to stall time when it's your turn to get your shell kicked."

Michelangelo immediately shut his mouth and sidestepped over off the path. His eyes darted about, looking for possible escape routes and any obstacles he would be able to put in Raphael's way after the rumble. However, Raphael tended to be a better climber than he was, so the young turtle considered that he might not be able to flee via the rock formations. He contemplated the more sloping area of the park. He would have a better chance of getting away, though it might be easier for Raphael to catch him.

He glanced about as they rounded a corner, hoping for a more "Mikey-friendly" course of action. However, he only saw a group of kids playing in the leaf piles.

Suddenly, Michelangelo slowed down, squinting. He caught a glimpse of a patch of red hair among the kids which tickled his memory. He scratched his head, studying the scene. There were four kids frolicking. Carrying the red-haired boy was a blond boy, a few years the first's senior. Were they the pizza guy's sons, who sometimes accompanied their dad on his trips? Maybe. He felt he had seen them once in his life, but he couldn't recall anything.

As he searched his memory bank, the blond stood facing a black-haired boy about ten feet away from him; this boy was a little shorter than him and carried a blonde girl on his pack.

"I'm gonna get you, Kevin!" the girl called.

"Yeah, right!" the red-haired boy shot back.

The blond boy and the black-haired boy nodded once before charging. The girl yipped out a war cry while the redhead made machine gun souds. The runners closed the distance between them, and it seemed like they would run right into each other. However, the boys quickly moved each to their right, and the riders grabbed each other's hands. Soon the four were all moving in a circle, faster and faster, while Kevin and the girl wrestled each other. However, in a flash, the blond boy toppled over, dragging the boy and girl with him.

Even from where Michelangelo stood, he could hear their groans of pain and shouts of "Sosso!".

"Even I'm not that stupid," the turtle stated with disbelief, but then his face wrinkled up, realizing what he had just implied. "Wait..."

-------

The gray shadows, growing darker with each passing moment, stretched over the park like groping fingers desperate to possess everything. As the orange streetlamps switched on, the park-goers began to bid their leave.

"See you tomorrow then, young man," said one seventy-year-old man to his comrade.

"You too, young man," replied his friend. Both stood up along with the others in their group, and all spread out like a scattered flock of birds. As each walked along in their own direction, they seemed blissfully focused on the moment and the peaceful settings of the park.

"Why do they keep staying until sunset even though thugs attack?" Michelangelo asked from his spot in the large tree. That had been bothering him ever since they started to observe the group.

Casey, on a branch above him, shrugged. "Maybe they don't know any better," he guessed. "But some of them are homeless and sleep on the benches." He reached into his golf bag and pulled out a club. "Let's get to work, boys."

"Finally," Raphael smirked. "Let's get this party started right."

They dropped from the tree and split up. Rather than follow an individual person, they used the zoning method which they had agreed upon. Michelangelo, like a sweeper on a soccer team, moved from one part of his assigned territory to the other; his ears were open for any sound of struggle; his nerves were ready for any necessary action. "We need more man power-- uh, turtle power," he observed to himself.

Three fighters covering a park was a little like setting up one policeman to protect the entire Bronx. They could not be every at once, and even taking care of their zones did not cut down on the high risk of failure. "Don needs to make some Turtle Tech Ninjas," he decided as he sprinted around the trees.

For two hours Michelangelo did not hear or see anything suspicious, and within ten minutes of the first hour, he had already begun to grow bored. He remained working, but that did not mean his mind stayed in the Bronx.

"Spring is here. Spuh-ring is here," he hummed ironically as he moved through the shadows of the coloring trees. "Life is Skittles and life is beer. I think the most wonderful time of the year is the spring, I do. Don't you? 'Course you do. But there's one thing that makes complete for me and makes every Sunday a treat for me." He paused dramatically, and his imagination was forming a music video. He swung his arms around, acting out his brainchild as he went on. "All the world seems in tune on a spring afternoon when we're poiso--"

Suddenly, there came a piercing scream from the darkness. Instinctively, Michelangelo yelped, but he quickly recovered. He immediately raced towards the sound, grabbing his Shell Cell as he did. He punched in buttons on the pad.

"Yo," his brother's voice greeted.

"Raph! Over towards the East side!" the ninja shouted and quickly shut the phone without waiting for a response. He tucked it back into his pocket and frantically fished into his shirt. He soon withdrew the nunchaku and gripped them tightly as he searched about for the scene.

He broke out of the trees and came into a cleared area. He skidded to a halt, though it pained his soul to do so, and surveyed the scene. A man, arms shielding his face, was a twitching heap upon the ground. Five teenagers surrounded the man, silent as the grave. They did not move towards the man, but their air was arrogant and sinister, like cats playing with their prey before they finished it off. Michelangelo could not make them out very well, but he saw that they wore dark-colored jackets. These jackets, he realized with a twist of his stomach, had a design on the back that resembled a flower.

"I don't got any money!" the old man cried, shattering Michelangelo's thoughts. "Nobody gave me a dime in a week!"

"We know," replied a girl's voice. Her voice was strange, as if she were repeating what she was hearing on the other end of a telephone. "But the Rose is not happy with you."

"Cripples need to know when to keep their mouths shut," added another, this time a boy. His voice was a monotone, as if he were reciting a well known rule. Michelangelo saw the voice's owner raised a long thing towards the sky. The turtle realized with horror that it was a crutch--the man's own crutch.

The group spread apart a few steps, moving away from the boy. Suddenly, the crutch dropped, and the man cried in pain, drowning out the sound of metal hitting flesh. Michelangelo could stay silent no more; he charged forward, waving his nunchaku as the brute lashed out like a demon on his victim.

The boy stopped suddenly in his attack, but he did not have time to dodge as the wooden weapon smashed into his skull. The kid collapsed with a groan, and his companions only watched in surprise. Michelangelo started after another one, but his target did not move, even to shield himself. The turtle halted abruptly, still spinning his nunchaku.

They were as silent as statues. The only sound came from the whimpering boy and the crippled man in the center of the circle, who clutched his wounds. The man's noises subsided when he saw that his rescuer had weapons.

"Cool moves," a girl observed with a flat voice.

Michelangelo looked at each of them. His eyes were more used to the dark now; all together it looked like there were two girls and three boys. Save for the groaning one, they could have been on their way to a funeral and not have looked any more somber.

"You know," the turtle said, slowing the twirl of his nunchaku, "it's not nice to beat up people when they can't fight back." He gave his most disarming smile and spread his arms wide. "But if you're desperate for a fight, you can try your luck on lil' ol' me," he said sweetly.

One of the girls, a blonde a little shorter than the rest, clutched her stomach. She looked as if she might be sick. "No, thank-you," she said with a strangled voice, but Michelangelo recognized her as the one who had said the Rose was not happy with the old man. She reached into her pocket and tossed something on the man's chest; the man on his part continued to gape at Michelangelo.

"We apologize, sir," the boy beside her said and tossed a similar object at their victim. Michelangelo realized that it was money. The other two did the same, and the nearest to Michelangelo stooped to retrieve their fallen companion.

"Good-night," they said together and started to walk away.

"It's not that easy!" shouted a growling voice. Michelangelo spun and saw Raphael and Casey running towards them. "You gonna pay more than that!"

Casey moved ahead and knocked a red-haired boy off his feet with his gulf club. The kid let out a yelp, but the others did not help him. "Way to go, Case!" Raphael cheered as he came up.

However, the kids watched their attackers solemnly. Casey paused, staring at them, but he recovered. "Somebody gotta teach you a lesson," he declared, but he faltered as they did not respond. He turned to Raphael. "Uh, maybe I didn't have to bring so many weapons," he said, puzzled.

"Now see here!" The turtles and Casey turned and saw the old man on his feet and leaning on his crutches. "Who are you to go takin' the law into your hands like that?" the man demanded.

Casey made a sound of disbelief. "Dude," he said, flexing his swinging arm, "these punks just beat you up! Ain't you mad?"

The man sniffed. "It's my business. Now, this young fella'," and here he pointed to Michelangelo, "was in the right stoppin' dat punk from hurtin' me, but them kids were willin' to go quietly, and they gave me money. I just counted it with my lighter-- one thousand dollars combined! Anyone who's willin' to give dat is okay in my book. But yous," he added, annoyed, "yous don't have no right beatin' up on kids who said they was sorry. The world's bad enough without punks like you around!"

The three fighters were absolutely speechless. Who was _that_ quick to forgive, even with money thrown in their face? One of the kids coughed, and Michelangelo turned to see it was the blonde girl. "If you don't mind, we'd like to go home now," she said without any emotion. The redhead girl was on her feet again, and the boy Michelangelo had hit was able to stand now. The five nodded to the trio and turned on their heels.

As with the group from the night before, the girls looped their elbows with the boys, and they strolled away. The brothers and Casey stared at their backs-- Raphael boiled beneath his shell, Casey clutched his hockey stick, wondering at this new course, and Michelangelo rubbed the back of his green head.

"Is that _it_?" Michelangelo called after them.

"What you get is what you see," was the faint return.

- - - - -

With only three to guard the lair, the hours spent fixing the security were tenser than any Donatello could remember. Master Splinter grippped his walking stick at the slightest sounds, and Leonardo actually looked nervous. Donatello was on pins and needles despite the amount of focus he tried to put into his work.

His idea for the security was to make it so that only those with a proper access code could enter; it was a more advance step than the usual to lock up the lair.

"Do you think it was one of the Foot?" Donatello asked Master Splinter once when the rat had passed by. The thought of them in his room, looking at his digital secrets, was more than he could bear.

However, Master Splinter shook his head. "Ninja do not reveal themselves with lemons."

- - - - -

At long last Donatello heaved a sigh. "Alright, I think we're finished," he called out, turning from the small security pad that he was fiddling with.

Leonardo was the nearest to him, and he smiled. "You're the best, Don!" he praised as Master Splinter hobbled out of the shadows.

Donatello waved the compliment off modestly. He sidestepped over so that they could get a better view of the box. "For now, we'll use the same code to see how it works, then I'll try to make a security code for each of us-- including April," he added.

"But Casey now has to call before he comes over, huh?" Leonardo grinned.

Donatello laughed, but Master Splinter laced his digits together in thought. "Why not have different codes now, my son?" he asked.

Donatello tapped the metal box. "I want to observe it first-- just to make sure we don't have any mess ups. In a day or two, I'll start assigning codes."

He then pointed at a red dot of light on the security pad. "For the outside ones, this thermal detector lets the inside detectors know if any humans pass it-- a bit like heat vision," he explained. "Since the outside ones are small, you'll most likely not see it at all, unless you're looking for it. For the inside ones, like this one, it receives the message from the outside ones and tells my computer, which will record when they pass and any images from thermal detectors."

Master Splinter nodded. "You show great thought, Donatello," he said solemnly. "Yet what happens if someone turns off one of the security boxes on the outside?"

Donatello grinned. "You can't turn off the outside ones without the proper code. If someone tries to, or to destroy it, it will trigger an alarm that will lock the doors of the lair, rather than open them." He paused for a moment, then added, "I was thinking of having it trigger lasers or something, but then I thought of Mikey-related accidents."

Leonardo frowned. "Where did you get lasers?"

"Hence the second problem."

Master Splinter touched his chin, his brow knitted. "What will be the code to turn off the security if something wrong should happen?"

"It's the reverse of the current one to get in," Donatello replied, "which is why I'm not letting Casey find out what the code is. At this point it could shut down the whole system, but I should work that out in a day or two."

Leonardo smiled, half-confident, half-admiring. "Genius, Don," he lauded and chuckled. "I suppose if Mikey were here, he'd say 'Smart as paint', or something."

Master Splinter glanced at his son. "What time is it, Leonardo?"

However, Donatello had already pulled out his Shell Phone before the rat had even asked. "Nine o'clock, already? I have to help April paint over the graffiti! Excuse me, sensei!"

He pushed passed Leonardo and hurried for his trench coat and fedora. He found them within a minute; however, Master Splinter would not let him leave until Michelangelo and Raphael returned fifteen minutes later.

When Raphael walked in, he looked angrier than usual, and Michelangelo for once looked like he sat on a cactus, but Donatello did not stop to find out what their problem was. He was soon on the streets and on his way to April's.

- - - - -

Donatello rang the bell on the backdoor and waited patiently for April to answer. He pulled his coat closer to him and rubbed his arms. The sad thing about being a mutant was that he was still cold-blooded. Unfortunately and fortunately, depending upon how you looked at it, he did not fall asleep when cold weather came around. He still experienced the drop of temperature, and now he wished he had put on something warmer.

He frowned and punched the doorbell button again. April did not answer. He checked the time to make sure that he had it right. Maybe he was suppose to come at ten instead, and April was out buying something. No, he was sure he was supposed to be here now. Maybe she was in the shower? He punched the doorbell again, but suddenly a twinge of fear struck his stomach. What if she was hurt? What if some goons broke in and attacked her? What if the Foot had found her and kidnapped her?

He was set to climb up and peek into her apartment window, when suddenly, the backdoor opened. April looked out cautiously, but she smiled when she saw Donatello. "You're here!" She opened the door wide, and he rushed into the warmth of the backroom.

The backroom was both a lounge and a storage area; Donatello particularly liked this part of the building better than all the rest. Upon entering, he was always swept into a blend of history and modern times. Paintings and old signs were stacked together against the walls, gathering dust but ready to be sold; glass soda bottles filled with aged pennies were in crates, clean and arranged by the dates of the coins; antique chairs, nursery tables, dolls, china sets, and several other treasures were set up for temporary decoration, giving a nice homey look to what might otherwise had been a lonely room. In one corner there was a coffee pot and a microwave and kitchen table, where April could eat her lunch and relax during her work hours. Next to the table there were poles, clothed rollers, and cans of paint.

Now, he sat down in one of the metal chairs as April warmed up a mug of hot chocolate for him. She hummed as she fiddled around with the hot water and the cocoa powder; from her mood, one would have thought that she had just discovered that she had won a million dollars. Donatello was glad to see that she was in a good mood. Her green eyes had that youthful twinkle again, and her smile had the usual glamour. The yellow roses must have done their trick.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked as she set the red-and-white checkered mug in front of him. "White paint? Or do you want me to go back out into the cold and scrub the spray paint off?" he joked.

"Painting will do... for now," she chuckled, laying down a box of chocolate chip cookies between them. "I'd had been thinking that back wall looked ratty anyway. So those punks did me a favor after all. I'd keep it up, but it would give the impression to other artists that it is a free canvas."

Donatello grinned and took a sip of his cocoa. He winced as the liquid burnt his tongue, but he was grateful for the treat. "You know," he said, wiping his mouth, "they say you're not suppose to paint during cold weather. The paint won't stick."

"Wimp," she teased, taking the second chair.

"Hey, your body is nearly always the same temperature," he shot back, pretending to be defensive, as she handed him the cookie box.

"I suppose being poikilothermic is the only drawback of being a mutant," she said pleasantly, grabbing two cookies for herself. "I suppose I could find work my hired slave," she joked, placing a cookie on his plate.

Donatello grinned, glad to see her laughing. "Just remember Splinter only put me on loan," he replied. She laughed again, and they set to work going through the chocolate chip treats. "Anything new happen today?" Donatello asked casually, but his voice squeaked a little bit.

Was it his imagination, or was April trying to hide a smile? "Oh, this and that. Cleaned up the store, made some profit, got flowers from a secret admirer, found out that I'm the Empress of the North Pole-- oh, let me get you a paper towel!"

Donatello had started so suddenly that the contents of his cup sloshed out onto the table. Apologizing, Donatello gratefully accepted the paper towels and set to work cleaning up the chocolate liquid, which was already trickling onto the tiled floor.

"I guess all that sounds boring," Donatello laughed nervously. "I suppose I can't convince you to donate the crown jewels to my inventions, your Majesty?"

"I suppose I could scatter some largess for the populace," she replied, leaning back in her chair. Her green eyes fixed on his, and he looked down quickly. "Has... Has Casey mentioned anything to you about special occasions?"

Donatello felt his insides twist. She thought Casey had… "None that come to mind," he admitted, meeting her gaze. "Of course, I think he's been hinting about his birthday for a while now, so I'll have to look into that."

"Oh." The spark in her eyes faded. "Well, the delivery truck sent over the antiques, so if we can't paint, you can help me with that."

"Sure, April."

-----------------

The morning before the delivery truck had come and delivered the antiques and the display cases, but April had decided that she did not like the entire arrangement of goods. After they had removed the breakable items from the cases, April set Donatello to work moving the cases with her. Donatello proceeded silently, nodding at everything she said and taking pains not to bump into anything. Opposite from him, April continued to try to improve the look of her shop. The turtle could see the wheels turn in her head, and he could see that once again, she was troubled.

He wondered if he should tell her that he had sent the roses, but he cringed at the thought of her possible reaction. She might think that he actually-- but he could not worry about that right now.

"I'm going to have to give you an access code to get into the lair, April," he said suddenly as they pushed a case containing bracelet into a back corner.

April's head snapped up. "What? Why?" He told the story; her green eyes growing larger with each second, especially when he mentioned the lemons. He finished, and she said nothing but glanced upwards. "That's... strange," she said at last, and he thought he heard her voice waver.

"So, you see why we have to take the added precautions," he replied. "It was a trifle inconvenient," he added, changing the subject. "Mikey found this microchip in the sewer, but I didn't get to examine it as much as I wanted because of the intruder."

"A microchip?" April blinked.

Donatello nodded. "Rather strange that it would fall in the sewers--like it was in someone's pocket instead of in a briefcase or something, but I guess Whoever had their reasons."

"That's interesting," she replied, but he wondered if she had even heard what he had said. Her eyes were narrowed as she contemplated what was hidden behind them.

Then a horrible thought struck him. "If you want, I can put up a similar security system here," he offered quickly, pushing the image from his mind.

April looked relieved. "Really? Would you?"

"You know I would."

Suddenly, a faint knocking came, and they whirled around, facing the back. The knock came again, louder this time, and April sighed. "I know that one anywhere-- my neighbor," she explained. "She's always requesting cups of sugar at late hours. I'll be right back."

Donatello remained tensed as she left, but in a moment, he heard a female voice, and he relaxed. He considered that the neighbor might come into the room--or at least look in at the shop casually--so he quickly moved towards the steps and climbed, trying to remember if April had ever mentioned her neighbor before.

On the landing he waited, but April did not come back into the shop, so at last he turned from the steps and went into her apartment.

As soon as he saw the front room, he recoiled back. What work he had done the night before had been cruelly undone--clothes, some he recognized as April's, once again covered the floor, now ripped; blankets covered the living area, wrinkled and ripped as well, books removed from their shelves with the pages torn from them, broken vases once containing flowers littered the floor, and in one glimpse, Donatello could see that hardly anything was still in tact.

He hurried in, and he saw that in the kitchen, the refrigerator doors were open, but all the contents were on the floor. His eyes followed the trail of ruined food, and then he saw it--amidst the chaos, yellow petals--yellow _rose_ petals--covered the floor.

"What are you doing in here?!"

Donatello started. April stood in the doorway. Her face was pale, and her body was shaking.

"What happened here?" he inquired, but suddenly, he wished he had not.

A shadow covered April's visage, and her eyes darkened. She stepped into the apartment and closed the distance between them. "Go, now, Donatello," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder.

"April--"

"_Go_," she repeated, and her voice hardened. Her eyes flashed with stress and anger, but immediately, they softened and gazed pleadingly at him. "Please."

Dumb-struck, he allowed her to drag him out the door and down the stairs. Numbly, he passed through the store. When they reached the backdoor, she opened unceremoniously, and he obediently collected his trench coat and fedora and passed over the threshold. Yet, as a cold wind brushed his face, he regained control over his mouth, and he turned, stopping her from closing the door.

"Has anyone been harassing you, April?" he asked.

April smiled rather ironically, he thought. "What you get is what you see," she said and closed the door in his face.

He stood for a moment, staring at the door, but then he glanced at the ninja drawing on her wall. The red roses, so carefully detailed with purple lines, mocked him. _Your roses are gone, but we are still here, and you won't solve either mystery,_ they seemed to say.

He whirled away and shoved his fists into his trench coat pockets. He bent his head against the wind and started home. Should he tell his family what happened? If April was reluctant to talk to him, she would not want to be confronted by four turtles and a rat. His eyes traced the blacktop of the backstreet, wondering. She might talk to Casey…

He had not gone more than a few steps before he froze suddenly, transfixed. Near the wall, directly under April's apartment window, there laid a pile of green sticks. With a trembling hand he reached down and touched one, already suspecting what they were--stems, store-bought rose stems with the thorns cut off but now with the petals missing.

His head shot up, and he stared at the window, fancying he saw April's silhouette. What was happening?


End file.
